


Receiving end

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, DI Vanilla-flavoured Marshmallow Fluff, Dom/sub, M/M, No mystrade, Threesome - M/M/M, no Greg/Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 10:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13702419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Greg joins the Holmes brothers in bed.





	Receiving end

Sherlock was quiet when he walked up the stairs. There was no need for talking now, he knew exactly what was about to happen and what was expected of him. He was right behind Mycroft and Greg Lestrade and they were all heading to Mycroft's master bedroom. Sherlock had been fantasising about that for years before it happened and still couldn't quite believe his luck.

Introducing a third person into a relationship was complicated. Doing so in an incestuous relationship was insane. Sherlock and Mycroft had so much to lose and it had always been a top priority to keep their intimate involvement secret. Sherlock knew that, Mycroft had repeated that thousands of times. Officially, they were asexual brothers who didn't particularly liked each other and didn't give anyone the slightest reason to doubt that. That safety measure was perfectly reasonable in their situation. But then Sherlock found another older man who cared about him a lot and would do anything for him. That was his type and the more time he spent with Greg, the more certain he was that he wanted to bend Mycroft's rules.

It took a while to convince Mycroft. The problem was not only his possessive jealousy. Greg was squeaky clean, a respectable, trustworthy, loyal friend of Sherlock's. Mycroft had no leverage on him, Greg didn't have any career-ending dark secrets. His only real pressure point was actually his consulting detective. Mycroft unwillingly admitted that Greg would never reveal the truth about them because hurting Sherlock in any way was the absolute last thing he wanted.

What made Mycroft less reluctant about considering Sherlock's suggestion was power. Sherlock pointed out that Greg wasn't a dominant type. Mycroft would be in control. Nothing would happen without his permission. He would be there the whole time, making sure that both Greg and Sherlock remembered what they were permitted to do. Sherlock smiled watching Mycroft process all that. All he had to do was wait for Mycroft to approach Greg and ask him if he wanted to shag his brother while he watched.

 

Sherlock sat on the bed and watched the usual proceedings. Mycroft, wearing only a dressing gown, was comfortably seated in the chair, close enough to the bed to ensure no one violated his rules. Greg had just finished undressing and picked up a set of police issued handcuffs. Sherlock's heart was racing. The novelty hadn't worn off yet. When Mycroft wanted to restrain him, he used leather cuffs, a much more comfortable option. The cold and hard metal ones preferred by Greg weren't so easy to enjoy. He had to constantly control the impulse to fight his bonds to avoid bruising.

Greg gave him a comforting smile and bent down to kiss him. The delicate touch of his lips was sweet, even though it was mainly a distraction. Sherlock parted his lips and tilted his head, trying to focus on the caress of Greg's tongue and not on what else Greg was doing. Greg slid his hands down Sherlock's arms until he reached his wrists, then pushed them behind his back and quickly snapped the cuffs around his wrists. That wasn't Greg's idea, he would be more than happy to let Sherlock touch him however he wanted, but Mycroft insisted. He wanted Sherlock to remember that it wasn't a romantic night with his DI. Lying on his back, on his bound hands indeed reminded Sherlock that he wasn't alone with Greg.

He shifted back on the bed, not as gracefully as he wanted. Greg followed him, pressed his lips to his neck and stroked his back, reaching lower and lower. Sherlock rested his forehead on Greg's shoulder, smiling when he felt the tips on his fingers on the top of his buttocks and then sliding between them. Slow, tender touch, without a hint of impatience. Greg couldn't reach his entrance at that angle but didn't seem to mind. Neither did Sherlock, to his own surprise. Unhurried and thorough foreplay had its advantages, he discovered. Greg's gentle approach was something that Sherlock didn't think he needed until he got it. Mycroft would tease him too, but in a completely different way.

Greg moved his hands higher, to Sherlock's hips and pulled him onto his lap. Another kiss, deeper this time, made him want to lift his hands, cup Greg's cheeks, hold onto his shoulders tightly. He couldn't, of course, but his hands twitched anyway. He was straddling Greg's thighs, feeling his palms stroke his sides. Greg had a perfect opportunity to bite Sherlock's lip or rake his back with his nails, Sherlock wouldn't stop him and neither would Mycroft. Instead, Greg continued kissing Sherlock and touching him softly.

'You're beautiful,' Greg whispered in his ear and closed his lips around his earlobe. 'Such a sweet boy.'

Sherlock shivered. He wished he could scoot a little closer to rub against Greg's erection, but he knew better than that. He pressed his face into the crook of Greg's neck when he picked a small bottle of lube from the pillow. Soon he felt Greg's finger rubbing his rim, circling it, then slowly pushing in. If he felt any discomfort at that, he didn't notice it. Greg's hand on the back of his head, smoothing his curls, was distracting enough. Barely audible endearments and encouragements weren't necessary, but welcome. Sherlock felt himself relax, he wasn't clenching his fists even when Greg added two more fingers to the mix, then also the fourth. Quiet whimpers escaped his lips, Greg was stretching him so patiently, preparing him with care. Sherlock didn't hurry him, he didn't want it to end. He wasn't as breakable as Greg thought, didn't need that much attention, but was glad to receive it.

Finally, Greg removed his fingers. Sherlock knew what was going to happen next. Greg freed one of his hands, so he could cuff him to the headboard. Sherlock lay on his back, put his hands over his head without a word of protest and let Greg do what he needed. Greg rewarded him with a trail of small kisses from his wrist to his neck. Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth curl upward. Greg was spoiling him with affection. It felt odd at the beginning, Sherlock would laugh nervously when Greg treated him like a blushing virgin. Now he thought he liked that. A lot.

Greg sat up for a moment to put on a condom. That wasn't a matter of trust, no, Mycroft wanted to be the only man who could spill inside Sherlock and no one argued with him. Sherlock spread his legs and used his feet to bring Greg closer to him. Greg smiled, kissed his ankle, then knee and his inner thighs. Sherlock gasped as Greg's mouth got maddeningly close to his straining erection. Sadly, that was another thing forbidden by Mycroft. Sherlock wanted Greg to suck him, even for a moment, but it was non-negotiable. Greg regretted that was as well and instead, he showered Sherlock's belly and chest with kisses. Sherlock lifted his head and Greg joined their lips together. Without breaking the kiss, he nudged Sherlock's legs wider apart. The blunt head sliding up and down Sherlock's cleft was driving him mad. He folded his legs around Greg's thighs, silently asking him to go on.

Greg finally pushed in, slowly but steadily, letting Sherlock feel every inch of him. Sherlock's delighted moan was genuine. The sensation of Greg filling him completely was entirely pleasurable. He didn't care how he sounded when he breathlessly said how good it felt, how amazing. Greg smirked against his lips, satisfied with that response.

The languorous pace that Greg set wasn't exactly Sherlock's first preference. Greg wanted to savour it, make it last. He rocked his hips lazily, repeatedly sinking in as deep as he could. He ran his hands up Sherlock's arms and held his wrists. He palmed Sherlock's thighs, stroked his hips. He did everything to make it feel good for Sherlock without violating Mycroft's rules. Sometimes Sherlock wondered how it'd be if they ignored Mycroft. Greg's hand most likely would be now wrapped around Sherlock, stroking him until he climaxed.

Sherlock knew it was best if he didn't come, Mycroft was very clear about that. Sherlock glanced at him, his brother was watching them, waiting for his turn. It was going to happen regardless of Sherlock's state and as he learnt, it was easier when he was still aroused. But Greg was moving inside him a little faster now and he could hear his pants and grunts. Mycroft rarely was loud in bed and Sherlock discovered he liked a vocal top. 'God, Sherlock,' Greg gasped, holding him tighter. That did it, Sherlock spasmed under him, surprised by his rather sudden orgasm. Greg didn't last long after that, satisfied with Sherlock's reaction.

They lay tangled together for a few moments, kissing occasionally. Greg didn't say it, but he wished he could release Sherlock and take a shower with him. He understood, fortunately, that it wasn't what Sherlock wanted. Greg eventually crawled off the bed and got dressed. He was welcome to stay and watch, often later all three of them had a drink.

Mycroft didn't waste time. He stood up, took off his dressing gown. 'Roll over, Sherlock,' he instructed, his voice ice cold.

Sherlock whined, mostly for the show. He was tired and spent, entirely content with lying there motionlessly for hours. More sex sounded like torture, yet he didn't want Mycroft to repeat himself. Groaning, he did as he was told, still restrained. Helpless. He knew how he looked, chained to the bed, on his front, nude and used. He knew they were watching him, staring at the traces of lube on his thighs.

The bed dipped under Mycroft's weight. Sherlock heard his own startled gasp when Mycroft brought his hand down on his cheek. He needed another slap before he decided not to be stubborn and positioned himself on his knees, presenting his arse to both men. His chest was still on the bed and he couldn't see what was happening behind him. He heard the cap of the lube bottle and Greg's heavy breathing and then felt Mycroft's hand on his hip, his grip deceptively gentle for a moment. Sherlock barely had enough time to take a deep breath. Mycroft dug his fingers into his skin, pulled him back and entered him in one fluid motion, right to the hilt. Sherlock yelped and against reason, tried to shuffle forward. His pointless struggle ended with Mycroft's palm pressed to the back of his head, holding him down.

Mycroft was always much rougher with Sherlock on nights like that, more demanding. There was little resistance from Sherlock's body and Mycroft took advantage, quickly building a harsh rhythm. He thrust forcefully, over and over again, much harder than when they were alone.

There was little Sherlock could do, pinned down and taken with such force. He spent all his energy on opening up and relaxing. He was shaking, not quite sure which was easier: trying to get aroused again, helping Mycroft reach completion sooner or simply clenching his teeth and taking it. Mycroft expected only one thing from him and that was letting his brother take what was his. Sherlock was supposed to be still and be good. His pleasure or lack thereof was the last of Mycroft's concerns at the moment. Even while listening to his half-muffled cries and whimpers, Sherlock grinned briefly. He loved that delightful side effect of including Greg in their relationship.

His smug thoughts were interrupted by a sharp pain his scalp. Mycroft caught a handful of his hair and pulled, making Sherlock cry out. 'Let me hear you,' Mycroft crooned softly and increased his already punishing rhythm.

Sherlock indulged him by vocalising his every movement. He couldn't stay quiet, not when Mycroft was fucking him so relentlessly. Mycroft barely made a sound, which made Sherlock seem much noisier. He gave himself over to the onslaught of sensations, too boneless to do anything else. The intensity of the experience reminded him of his first time, when Mycroft finally stopped being so noble and bent Sherlock over his desk. The memory of the burning stretch and a new kind of pain was still fresh and exciting. It hurt, there was no denying it, but Sherlock begged Mycroft not to stop. Now Mycroft knew how much Sherlock could take and gladly gave Sherlock what he needed.

Mycroft's hand was now on his neck, again pinning him down to the bed. He was close, Sherlock could tell. Good, Sherlock was nearly ready to start asking him to finish already. Often that was what finally made Mycroft slow down, only to torment him a little longer. 

Sherlock closed his eyes, waiting for Mycroft to fill him with his seed. He sighed, relieved when it happened and Mycroft made last, shallow thrusts. For a moment, Sherlock was only aware of the countless little aches in his body, wondered where he was going to bruise. Then he noticed that Mycroft was running his fingers up his arched back, to his wrists and back. He loved Mycroft's post-coital tenderness.

The rest was predictable. A long shower, drinks, arms around him, praises and then waiting for another adventurous night.


End file.
